Poets, American -- 19th century -- Biography; Whitman, Walt, 1819-1892
That which complacently calls itself orthodoxy is naturally intolerant,
it can, indeed, hardly even admit tolerance to a place among the
virtues; and the evangelical propaganda must be very pure if it is to
be unaccompanied by the spirit of exclusion. It may seem strange that
such a spirit should enter into a Society which gathers its members
under the name of "Friends," a name which seems to indicate some
basis broader than the creeds, some spiritual unity which could dare
to welcome the greatest diversity of view because it would cultivate
mutual understanding. But the broader the basis and the more spiritual
the bond of fellowship, the more disastrous is the advent of the spirit
of schism masking itself under some title of expediency, and here this
spirit had forced an entrance.
Between Hicks--who himself appears to have been somewhat intolerant of
opposition, a strong-willed man, frankly hostile to the evangelical
dogmatics--and the narrower sort of evangelicals, relations became
more and more strained, until, in 1828, the octogenarian minister was
disowned by the official body of Quakers, after some painful scenes. He
was however followed into his exile by a multitude of his hearers and
others who foresaw and dreaded the crystallisation of Quakerism under
some creed.
Soon after the crisis, and only three months before his death, Elias
Hicks preached in the ball-room of Morrison's Hotel on Brooklyn
Heights. Among the mixed company who listened on that November evening
to the old man's mystical and prophetic utterance, was the ten-year old
boy, accompanying his parents.
Hicks sprang from the peasant-farming class to which the
Whitmans belonged; and, as a lad, had been intimate with Walt's
great-grandfather, and with his son after him. It was then, with a
sort of hereditary reverence, that the boy beheld that intense face,
with its high-seamed forehead, the smooth hair parted in the middle
and curling quaintly over the collar behind; the hawk nose, the high
cheek bones, the repression of the mouth, and the curiously Indian
aspect of the tall commanding figure, clad in the high vest and coat
of Quaker cut. The scene was one he never forgot. The finely-fitted and
fashionable place of dancing, the officers and gay ladies in that mixed
and crowded assembly, the lights, the colours and all the associations,
both of the faces and of the place, presenting so singular a contrast
with the plain, ancient Friends seated upon the platform, their
broad-brims on their heads, their eyes closed; with the silence, long
continued and becoming oppressive; and most of all, with the tall,
prophetic figure that rose at length to break it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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